End of the Road
by fallenangel860
Summary: A little coda to the season 12 finale following Dean and Sam (bust mostly Dean) after Cas dies. I tried to keep it true to canon though I took some liberties (assuming Jack just disappears/ teleports after Sam finds him and assuming that Cas' death is final even though I think we all know its not). It can be read as Destiel if you want but doesn't have to be, was not intended.


Dean cradled the body in his arms. Silent tears traced paths down his cheeks and splashed down creating patches of wetness on a dirty trenchcoat. He didn't look at the blackened scorch marks that stretched out tattered and broken across the ground. He refused to see them like that, refused to acknowledge what the charred remnants meant. He didn't hear the footsteps approaching from behind; he didn't hear his brother call out his name or tell him that the child had managed to disappear somehow. He was focused only on his grief, not registering that his brother was there at all until he felt a hand come to rest heavily on his shoulder. It was his left shoulder, the shoulder where Cas' handprint had once been. A flicker of hope lit up his eyes as he looked up, expecting to see that familiar face, those striking blue eyes.

The hope was extinguished as fast as it had flared up. Dean's face crumpled into a mask of agony as he gazed up at his younger brother. Unshed tears swam in Sam's eyes. Dean took a shuddering breath. He wasn't the only one that Cas had left behind. He wasn't the only one to have lost people. Sammy had lost Cas too, and a mother he had just begun to get to know. Dean was supposed to be Sammy's rock. He was supposed to be strong for Sam, help him through all the messed up crap that happened to them, all the death, but this time he couldn't. It was too much, for too long. He was only human and sooner or later something was bound to give. This was it. This was the breaking point at last. He was tired of always being strong. It was too much. Right now, he was done.

He took another shuddering breath and clutched his dead friend tighter. "He's gone, Sammy," he sobbed.

Sam squeezed his shoulder, his lips quivering. Stray tears slid down his face to see his brother so broken down, to think of his own losses. He swallowed the growing lump in his throat and did his best to smile, to put on a brave optimistic front for Dean's sake. "He'll be back." His voice was rough with emotion. "He always comes back. It'll take a hell of a lot more than this to keep him down."

Dean pressed his lips together in a grim line and shook his head. "Not this time, Sam." Dean's voice was hoarse and gravelly. "God's in the wind. There's no coming back for him this time." He looked back down at the still form that lay half in his lap. Its eyes were closed. It occurred to Dean that he almost looked peaceful if you didn't look at the hole in his chest, at the blood that now stained Dean's hand and jeans. It looked like he was sleeping.

Dean's held Cas' head cradled in one hand, the other was bunched in the torn, bloody, dress shirt. This time, Dean didn't look at his brother when he spoke. "Back in that barn, when he thought he was gonna die, he said he loved us. I don't know know about you... or mom... but, I never told him. I never said it back. I never told him we loved him too... I loved him too. I never had the guts. I guess I thought it was too friggin sappy. I don't think I ever really thought we could actually lose him. Ya know, I told him we were family, that he was our brother." He let out a bitter huff of a laugh. "We never really treated him like he was though. Not really. Now he's gone, Sammy. He's gone and now he'll never know because I never had the balls to tell him I loved him too."

Sam gave his shoulder another squeeze. "He knew."

"Doesn't matter," Dean sniffled. "I never told him. He never heard it. Not once in his life from anyone. He deserved that much at least. I should've at least given him that. Now I can't." With that, the dam inside Dean finally broke. The floodgates opened and his breaths came in great heaving sobs. He pulled the now empty vessel further onto his lap and sat bowed above it with his face buried in his dead friend's shoulder.

Sam stood by patiently. His own tears fell in silence for the friends and family that they'd lost and for the pain and guilt that consumed his brother. Time seemed to pass slowly as gradually his tears came to their end. Sam's tears stopped long before Dean's and it felt like half an eternity before Dean's choking sobs slowed and became the hiccuping shudders of a man who was physically unable to to cry any more. Dean wiped his hand on his jeans and pressed his palm to his face, wiping away the moisture from his eyes. His voice was raw and came out in a whisper. "What do we do now?"

Sam cleared his throat. Dean had taken care of him for so long. He knew Dean had held so much back, for him, for years. It was his turn to put Dean first, to take the burden and lead and let his brother rest. "We do what we always do," he said with the steadiest voice he could muster, "the best we can. We'll take him back to the bunker, give him a hunters funeral. I'll call Claire, see if she wants to be there. Then..." he sighed, "we try and find the nephilim. Do what we have to."

Dean nodded his assent and carefully shifted Cas from his lap. He crouched down next to the limp form and slid his arms under its knees and back and slowly stood with a grunt. Sam followed behind as Dean slowly carried what was left of the angel to the car. Without exchanging words, Sam reached for the handle and opened the back door. Dean gently laid the body across the back seat and shut the door which thudded closed with a sickening finality. As Sam was reaching for the passenger side door, Dean fished something out of his pocket and tossed it to his brother.  
Sam caught the keys and gave Dean a concerned look before slipping into the drivers seat instead. The radio kicked on as the car turned over, the strains of a familiar song playing. Sam reached out to switch it off but was stopped by an iron grip on his wrist. He turned to Dean and seeing the set of his jaw put his hands up in defeat, instead shifting the car into gear. Sam turned the car onto the road and aimed toward home. As they drove Sam could hear Dean singing, only slightly out of tune, along with the radio. His throat tightened as he listened to Dean's slightly altered lyrics. "Carry on my wayward son, There'll be peace now, you are done. Lay your weary head to rest, Don't you cry no more."


End file.
